


precious little mercies

by gingersprite



Series: stronger for having been broken [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Adoption, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Babies, Background Gendry Waters/Arya Stark - Freeform, Background Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen - Freeform, F/M, Fix-It, Infertility, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-14
Updated: 2019-09-14
Packaged: 2020-10-13 10:10:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20580800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gingersprite/pseuds/gingersprite
Summary: Family is still family, no matter where they are; but a pack is meant to be together.





	precious little mercies

**Author's Note:**

> Theonsa week day three, prompt: "family"
> 
> I feel like I should put this out there, especially if you've read some of my other fics: I don't hate Dany. The Starks and co have, understandably, very strong opinions towards the Targaryens, which impacts how they're framed by the narrative. That being said, I do dislike jonerys as a pairing; incest aside, it strikes me as an unhealthy relationship for both of them, so if you're a fan of that ship, tread cautiously.

Sansa had never planned on going South again as long as she lived. Once the setting of her favorite daydreams, King’s Landing had played host to some of her worst nightmares. After Cersei was defeated and Northern independence secured, there should have been no need for her to set foot in that wretched city again.

But of course, it couldn’t ever be that easy.

Daenerys and Jon were now the parents of a darling baby girl, and had invited Sansa to the celebration being held in the little princess’ honor. 

“How very _gracious_ of them.” Sansa had huffed to herself upon receiving the invitation. 

She knew it was rather petulant of her, but how else could she have taken it? Jon had effectively cut her and Arya out of his life, and likely would have done the same to Bran if anyone could _find_ him; all in favor of his beloved dragon queen. Sansa had been hurt, having only just begun to have an actual relationship with her baseborn brother, but Arya had been devastated. And now, he wanted her to pretend he hadn’t turned his back on their family, and come congratulate him on this new one?

Fine, then. She’d be the perfect image of a gracious queen, cultivating positive relationships with a neighboring kingdom.

“You seem to be taking this rather… personally.” Theon ventured. She glared down at where he lay, right between her thighs. Dammit he’d _planned_ this, waiting until after her head was full of post-pleasure haze to ask her about something she was obviously irritated at. He even had the gall to smirk at her!

“So what if I am?” she sniffed. “They want me to pretend like everything’s _fine_, like nothing bad happened the last time a Stark rode South to meet with a Targaryen!”

“Daenerys isn’t her father.” Theon reminded her, patiently.

“No, she just draws her claim directly from him. She just wants to see me turn her down, so she can prove what an ice queen I am! You know what the Southrons still say about me, that I’m a witch who used magic to kill Joffrey.”

“Pretty sure that’s meant as a compliment, love,” Theon quipped. She gave his shoulder a light smack for that and he chuckled, darting up to plant a noisy kiss above her navel. His expression then turned serious, as he rested his head on her stomach and gave her hand a comforting squeeze. “It’s alright to be frightened about leaving Winterfell. The idea of going South gives me pause, too. But I know you want to try and have a good relationship with Jon, and with your little niece. Did the letter say what they’d named her?”

“‘Lyanna’,” Sansa said with an eyeroll. “Because clearly subtlety isn’t a Targaryen trait.”

“Pretty sure that goes all the way back to Old Valyria. That and the silver hair and purple eyes.” Theon replied. “Gods, could you imagine if Jon had taken after them? I would’ve loved to have heard your father’s explanation for that!”

Sansa tried to picture Jon with the usual Targaryen coloring, and burst into giggles. 

“He would’ve had a hell of a time matching his hair to his clothes.”

“_Theon!_”

As much as she appreciated the jest, it wasn’t enough to resolve her fears. Theon moved so they lay next to each other, heads on the same pillow. He thumbed at the frown between her brows as if he could smooth it away, and carded her unbound hair with his fingers.

“Come on now, it won’t be like last time,” he promised, in a voice so gentle and sincere she could almost believe him. “We’ll have Brienne and Pod, and the wolves. Davos and Yara will be there too, so you’ll have allies. And Jeyne and Arya and Gendry will keep Winterfell safe ’til we return, so everything’ll be fine.”

He had a point, but it would have been sounder if Arya wasn’t heavily pregnant with her own child, which severely decreased her fighting abilities for obvious reasons. Arya actually couldn’t make the trip to King’s Landing even if she had wanted to go: a bout of spotting had ignited the maester’s concern that the old stab wound put her at risk for early labor, and she was on strict orders to rest. Once the initial fear had subsided, Arya had become just as difficult to deal with as she had been when childhood illnesses had kept her bedbound.

It was probably for the best that of the two of them, Sansa be the one to go; she shuddered to think about what Arya would say to Jon, after having had more than a year to stew over everything.

\---

Despite Theon’s assurances, the idea of going South again still gnawed at her. Perhaps it was that a part of her no longer trusted Jon to protect her; everyone knew Daenerys had a temper, and the obstacles she’d encountered from disgruntled Southron nobles hadn’t done anything to help in that matter. For all of Varys’ warnings of ‘Targaryen Madness’, Sansa didn’t think that was a worry: if Daenerys chose to burn her alive, she would do so with a clear head and an unburdened conscience, certain that she was doing the right thing.

Would Jon even stand in her way, to protect his least favorite sister? When she voiced these concerns to Theon, he offered an interesting solution.

“Bring Tormund.”

“Tormund.” She said flatly.

“Aye, the big fellow, bushy red beard.”

“Tormund Giantsbane.”

“Do we know any other Tormund?” he teased.

“Bring Tormund Giantsbane. To King’s Landing.” Sansa clarified, just to make sure she hadn’t suddenly been struck by a case of auditory hallucinations.

Theon huffed. “I know, but hear me out. He’s worked hard setting up Last Hearth and Castle Black as places for his people, which has been a great help in strengthening our relationships with them. But he’s a wildling at heart, he wants to travel; see all the places he’s never had the chance to see.”

“As much as I appreciate you trying to help Tormund fulfill his aspirations, I’m not sure I like the idea of using him as a _human shield!_” she exclaimed.

“Listen, you’ve got this idea in your head that Jon doesn’t care enough about you to protect you- which is preposterous, I might add, but we can discuss that later- so why not bring someone you’re certain he cares for? Someone who has a strong relationship with both of you, who can smooth over any hurt feelings.”

Sansa didn’t love the idea, but it had its merits. At the very least, it couldn’t hurt; and she genuinely liked Tormund.

“Fine,” she acceded, and Theon’s face broke into a grin, which was quickly cut short by what she said next. “But _you_ have to tell Brienne.”

\---

Tormund and Brienne’s reactions to the invitation were predictable, with him being thrilled and her far less so. While he was excited by the idea of traveling South- and seeing his favorite little crow again- he had one caveat: that his daughters could come as well. Both girls seemed positively giddy at this chance to travel farther than any of their known ancestors had.

Sansa hadn’t met Munda and Gyda before, though she had heard of them. The girls were eleven and nine, respectively, but they were taller than their age mates; this they presumably inherited from their father, though neither had gotten his distinctive red hair. The girls were easy to love, with their adventurous hearts and cheerful demeanors. While in most respects they handled the trip well, the further South they got the more they whined about the increased heat. Sansa had to hide a grin, as their complaints reminded her so much of Arya’s and her own during that fateful journey so long ago. 

At least the wolves didn’t seem too distressed by the temperature, though they probably weren’t thrilled by it. When people said that direwolves didn’t belong in the South, they weren’t just speaking of the climate; they were so wild at heart, and needed much more space than regular wolves. Nymeria had done well for herself in the South because she, like Arya, was more adaptable than others. Ghost, however, had only ever known the North, and would surely chafe at the unfamiliar surroundings. 

‘_At least Jon did one thing right, sending Ghost off with Tormund,_’ Sansa mused, as she watched the far more curious Pearl attempt to coax Ghost into playing, with no success. ‘_He’d hate to live here, with all the walls and scents of the city. It’s just not him._’

\---

Between the destruction of the Sept of Baelor and the burning of the Red Keep, King’s Landing no longer seemed the stately, eternal city it once had. Though construction projects were clearly underway, such endeavors took time and resources, the latter being in especially short supply. Despite this, things seemed to be doing alright, at least on the surface.

Jon chose to receive their party instead of an envoy; he looked good, his skin tanned by the Southern sun, but he still held himself awkwardly. Whatever confidence he had gained during his time in the Night’s Watch and during the war seemed to have faltered. When Sansa looked at him now, she was reminded more of the sullen bastard boy he’d been, always uncertain of where he belonged. 

He’d seemed so confident that he belonged in the South, with Daenerys; Sansa wondered if he still felt so sure about that now.

Tormund was quick to lighten the group’s tension, greeting Jon with a massive hug followed by japing about their ostentatious Southern clothing. Though Munda and Gyda had apparently never met Jon they greeted him like an old friend, pulling at his tied-back curls and gawking over Longclaw, a weapon that had become something close to legend for them.

Jon seemed to grow more comfortable amongst them, enough so that he was able to joke back; but what really helped was seeing Ghost. The massive direwolf hung back, silent as ever, with an almost hurt look on his furry face.

“Ghost,” Jon breathed, leaning down so he could bury his face in the wolf’s ruff. He murmured something into the white fur, a quiet something that might have been, “I’ve missed you.” Usually Pearl would’ve started making a fuss at the other wolf getting attention, but she kept quiet, clearly recognizing the seriousness of this reunion.

When Jon finally straightened, he looked far more like the brother she remembered. Jon greeted Brienne and Pod, and he and Theon made a noticeable effort to be polite to each other, which she loved them both for. Sansa gave him a tentative smile, which he returned, before throwing caution aside and pulling him into a hug.

“It’s good to see you, brother,” Sansa said once they broke apart. “It’s been too long.”

He agreed, but offered no excuses or explanation; which she supposed was the best she was going to get under the circumstances. She certainly didn’t plan on apologizing for her own distance.

\---

Lyanna had her mother’s fair skin and silver hair, just as Sansa had expected. Though she did feel some satisfaction in noticing that the baby’s eyes were more on the grey side than purple, if for no other reason than to spite the ancient Targaryens for their obsession with blood purity. Whatever her personal feelings for Daenerys, it was clear that she loved her daughter dearly, and couldn’t have cared less if she looked like a proper Valyrian.

It was strange to think that she was now tied by blood to a woman who she respected and feared in equal measures. Sansa held her niece in her arms, smiling down at the sweet little babe, and to her surprise in that moment she found herself wishing she didn’t have to give her back.

But of course, she did. And she didn’t tell Theon, but he knew. How much it hurt, to fall in love with this little girl, knowing all the while that she couldn’t possibly be a presence in her life, not with the distance between them. Family was still family, no matter where they were; but a pack was meant to be together.

\---

Sansa hoped that the feeling would lessen once they were home, and it did, to some extent; only to come back just as hard when Arya’s daughter was born. Alysanne, or just Alys for short. She was tiny, and beautiful, and utterly perfect; and this time when Sansa handed her back to her parents, she wept.

It didn’t make any sense: Arya and Gendry were going to be staying at Winterfell for a few months more, and even once they returned to Storm’s End there would be frequent visits. But somehow that only made it worse, knowing that she would go from seeing the little girl every day, a constant fixture, to not seeing her for months or even years.

She did her best to push those feelings down, now more than ever; Arya deserved this happiness, and Sansa wouldn’t let her own issues put a damper on this.

Theon held her tight as she cried, her heart fit to burst with a confusing mix of joy and sorrow. Even though her family had grown in size, she felt lonelier than ever.

“Do you remember what we talked about, when we decided to bring Thom here?” Theon asked cautiously, while they lay in bed, her back to his chest. Sansa nodded, knowing where he was going with this, but unsure how to respond. When they agreed to bring Theon’s bastard to Winterfell, she had already accepted that he would never be her child. 

Sansa could handle that; she and Thom had come to have a good relationship, unusual as it was. But he wasn’t hers: he had already had a mother, who he lost, and he was unlikely to see her as a candidate for the role. 

Theon continued, “What if we started looking for a-a child? We’ve seen so many orphans, since rebuilding started. Maybe one of them could be… could be ours.”

“H-how could we do that, just choose one? When there are so many in need, how do we decide which one is, is ‘worthy’ of being ours? It feels like there… there’s something almost cruel about it.” Sansa’s voice hitched as she tried to explain the moral dilemma she’d found herself in. Having to choose a child meant not choosing others; like pointing to the cut of meat she wanted at a butchery. How could she pick one needy child over any of the tens of hundreds of needy children there also were?

But maybe there was something even worse in not doing so. Even one child chosen meant there was one less in the poorhouses; surely that was preferable to not choosing one at all. Or was she just being selfish, and reaching for some excuse to ease her own conscience? 

Sansa thought about what family she had left: Arya, soon to be back at Storm’s End with her own little one. Alys would be a Stark through-and-through, but she would be raised in the Stormlands. Bran, who the gods only knew if she'd ever see again. Jon, who seemed so different now, so... diminished. Would Daenerys make sure Lyanna knew of her Northern connection, or would she fill her head with stories of a land dead for centuries now? Even Tormund and his daughters, who she’d come to see as family, were back at Castle Black with Ghost.

“I want…” she hesitated, frightened of the power in those words; Theon gave her hand an encouraging squeeze. “I want a child of our own, one we don’t have to give back. I want to raise a little one, from Alys’ age to Munda’s and beyond. I want a family we don’t have to say goodbye to, because they’re _here_ and they’re _ours_.”

Theon pressed a searing kiss to her temple.

“Then that’s what we’ll do.”

\---

It took time, and tears. But eventually they brought her home to Winterfell: a little baby with a riot of brown curls, and Northern grey eyes.

They named their daughter Alannys.

**Author's Note:**

> Adoption is an amazing, beautiful thing, and Sansa's conflicted feelings about it are not meant to suggest otherwise: adoption doesn't seem like something done that often in Westeros, especially not among the nobility, so it's not seen as a normal option. Sansa is also very much like Ned here, with her concerns about the ethicacy of someone of her station adopting from the smallfolk.
> 
> Title from "Conversations With Ghosts" by Bear's Den.


End file.
